The Mutant Mouse Chronicles

Peter Gabriel - Four Kinds of Horses (Lamson video)

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Sun, 23 Feb 2025 16:55:00 -0500

The Truth About TIK TOK and Our Personal Information - Do You Have Secrets to Tell?

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Thu, 16 Jan 2025 00:51:00 -0500

It is the Wednesday before the Sunday when TikTok will flip a switch and turn off access for 170,000,000 users in the United States. TikTok will do this to comply with Federal law, passed by a bi-partisan congress and signed into law by President Biden. Unless the ban is extended or the law overturned by the U.S. Supreme Court before Sunday, the most popular social media app in the United States, relied upon by millions for their livelihood, will go dark.

The official government reason is because the owner of the parent company is Chinese and there is the potential for spying, for blackmail, and for the gathering of sensitive information on American citizens that could be used for nefarious purposes in a time of war. We are currently not at war with China, in case you were wondering about that. Maybe soon, you should worry, says our Federal Government.

We are an open society, a capitalistic-styled Democracy, where all but our most valuable state secrets are readily available for a price on the dark web, where the receipt of a security breach notice of personal information from a bank or business has landed in the mailbox of every U.S. Citizen, and where the Freedom of Information Act, and Right to Know Laws guaranteeing public access to government documents, is meant to shine a bright light into government's dark, corrupt practices, is a fundamental right of our citizens. We are not concerned with those trivialities. Our freedom is threatened by the most wildly successful social media application since Windows jumped onto a DOS computer and swallowed it whole.

A free society means when you start browsing on the internet, cookies follow you and record your adventure, gathering the information you provide with your clicks and roll-overs to be sold to advertisers, so they can target you with their products the moment they receive that information. Facebook and Google do this on a massive scale to every citizen who is online using those corporate social media apps and browsers. Facebook and Google do it on your phone, on your laptop, on your desktop, even on your smart TV. Now with the help of AI, the gathering of your information will accelerate with new tracking methods that gather our information at ridiculous speeds.

Meanwhile, it most be comforting to know our government is worried about protecting our citizens, and ultimately our the nation itself from a single social media application. It must be a coincidence that TikTok built an Algorithm that kicks the ass of every single company in Silicon Valley and beyond. It is simply a coincidence that TikTok has provided a method for American citizens to make money, serious money in some cases. Damn those Chinese, they are so fucking clever.

TikTok is not the usual American Corporate sucking machine that takes your money to increase their profit margins, and make their wealthy shareholders even happier. TikTok is not like those U.S. based companies that hire expensive lobbyists, who write proposed laws like the Digital Media Copyright Act, then hand their legally corporate-empowering proposals over to our government leaders, along with a campaign check from their Industry PAC, and a suggestion that their self-benefitting proposed legislation be passed into law.

I think I would be fairly accurate if I wrote that 99.5 percent of American citizens, (my best guess based upon a hunch) are not in possession of the security clearance needed to access our Government's most sensitive classified secrets, you know- like those documents found in the guest bathroom at Trump's Mara Lago resort, China made a major error committing so many millions to a social media platform, potentially gathering information on 170,000,00 Americans, when all China needed to do was book a weekend at Trump's resort and claim digestive issues is the reason China spent so much time in the guest bathroom.

And if China really wants my personal information, all they have to do is create a U.S. based Subsidiary Corporation who would then buy that information from several American Companies that sell our every movement online to anyone who can afford it. China can afford it. Maybe they are already doing this. Shall we ask Google and Facebook for a list of their clients?

I live-streamed on TikTok for the past month and my earnings stand at around 90 dollars. In the past two years, I haven't made 50 cents on Spotify, Apple Music, Amazon, iHeart, Naspster, and Youtube combined. Same music but on these American sites I have to pay to get full access to their algorithms- no pay, no traffic.

Unofficially, we know that Windows for years and most likely this hasn't changed, has a programming core that is protected proprietary software. Imagine if our government leaders passed a law that required Windows to divest of that proprietary software, sell it off to their competitors now or shut Windows down.

I'm sure TikTok competitors would be thrilled to have TikTok's algorithm for their own businesses. They would just have to tweak the coding so we no longer get paid, Or we will get paid $.002 cents per stream per verified customer , then force us to pay out of our pockets for the privilege of using their algorithmic software, with a return of 12 cents per year for our 170.00 yearly subscription cost and the $300.00-$3,000 we paid in promotional fees.

Maybe once we pay enough money, using our charge card with 27% interest issued to us from a U.S. Corporate Bank, YouTube will unlock the gates to their other customer portals who are doing the same thing so their content makes it across our browser. This is American Corporate ingenuity at its finest. Use our elected government officials to destroy a superior competitor, based upon fear-mongering and hypocritical standards that unlevel the playing field in favor of the inferior and greedy, self-serving internet executives, who bankroll millions upon millions of dollars each year in salary and stock options thanks to our generosity.

And what about the 170,000,000 Americans who are ripped off, betrayed, and driven under the economy? Those personal losses will have an undetermined, yet potentially massive impact on the U.S. economy. Well fuck those losers if Corporate America can make another .5% profit on their billions of income over expenses. Beside, Trump will get those prices down once he is President. Believe that and I've got some fine land in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey I would like to sell to you.

The unofficial reason for the TikTok ban may be clear. Americans were speaking out against corruption, against abuse, against racism and hatred. We can't have that. There aren't many newspapers left to investigate our government officials for corruption.

Then there is Donald Trump. He filed an amicus brief before the Supreme Court requesting a delay in the ban while he works out an arrangement for a sale. I am betting he ends up owning TikTok, making another cool 12 billion for his efforts as our President while saving the app for us to use. He should be rewarded with a medal, right?

There isn't anything that scares a corrupt or ethically compromised public official more than having his dirty laundry flown in front of the entire country. But our education system , and this is an argument for dismantling the Department of Education, couldn't teach rural- raised American children how to ask questions, to make evaluations, to research, to even balance their own check book. As long as they could spell their own name, they can graduate. If not, then Summer School will fix that. No wonder the folks in our rural communities vote overwhelmingly for Trump. There is no clarity in a gas-lit world.

Still, we have 170 million TikTok users and that could become the most powerful lobby group of all time. Except that we are sheep. Taught to be sheep by an educational system more concerned about what books we shouldn't read than how government functions, how some decisions carry an inherit unfairness in order to achieve a small, singular result for the silver-spooned few. The sheep will follow where you lead us, Mr. Trump.. As we almost always do any more. Baaa Baaa, Trump won't Baaan Tik Tok if he is given the chance.

If you are expecting Trump's Supreme Court to fix this mess, you been too busy munching in the meadow and haven't paid attention to this Court's previous decisions. It's not about you, dear citizen. It hasn't been about you since long before they took away a woman's right to decide what is best for her own body and her health. The Supreme Court is not the citizen savior, they are the corporate executioner.

So say your goodbyes now my fellow users. Because at 12:00 a.m. on Sunday morning, TikTok will be a fond memory of how our society could have grown and how it should have grown. Instead we get to gauge how much we have shrunken as a free society, no longer for the people or by the people, not when we are under corporate rule by the wealthy one percent, and a majority of our citizens choose a convicted felon over an experienced prosecutor and public servant to lead our nation.

Goodbye Tik Tok. Thanks for the memories.

Rick

Our Honored Fallen - The Fabric that Unites Us as Americans

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Tue, 3 Sep 2024 01:50:00 -0400

Source: Tim1965 via Wikimedia Commons

On the TikTok Social Media App, that dastardly Chinese-owned and widely popular U.S. vehicle for individual expression, there is a content creator who will stop your words and take your breath away.

It is called Arlington Guard. The hashtags are USA, Navy, Honor, Soldier, America, Army, Military, Guard, and FYP. Arlington Guard can be found at this TikTok address: @usa.arlington. Their precision rifle drills are a vivid and superior reminder of the honor and respect due to our fallen soldiers.

Yet not every soldier is buried at Arlington Cemetery. My brother-in-law is buried in a lovely cemetery in Fairfield, Connecticut. A Navy veteran, he was buried with full military honors and a plaque rests below his grave that honors his service.

My father served in the Navy at the conclusion of World War II and spent a few weeks at Bikini Atoll as part of the Atomic Bomb experiments. His fast frigate carried the scientists who studied the two explosions in 1947. And after those test explosions, he either volunteered or was volunteered to accompany those scientists onto the atoll for radiation studies.

My Uncle Gerry served for many years in the U.S. Army. We visited him once in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan where he was based. He met his first wife in Okinawa. He passed away several years ago and is buried in Florida.

My oldest brother served in the U.S. Air Force partially during the Vietnam war, but he was mostly stationed in Maine, repairing early warning radar systems. Thank you for your service, brother.

On August 31st, my wife and I participated in a Memorial Service for her mother Diane, a civilian Naval employee and a Nuclear Physicist who was on the design team for the Tomahawk Cruise missile. That missile was used in the first Gulf war, when we liberated Kuwait from Iraq's invasion. Her work on the cruise missile has changed the nature of modern warfare. She passed away on August 15, 2024, a retiree who worked for the Navy since she graduated from college. There will be no military honors, yet her entire career was spent in the service of our country. We thank her for her service.

Her husband, father to my wife, survives her. He also was a civilian Naval employee, a Nuclear Engineer, also involved in the Tomahawk Cruise missile program in his later years, and prior, in a manner similar to his wife, on other highly classified Department of Defense programs. We thank him for his service.

On my own mother's side of the family, we have documents for the conscription for one ancestor who joined the Ohio Regiment and fought in the Civil War. Another branch of her family dates back to the Daughters of the American Revolution.

I did not serve, having graduated from High School one year after our country's withdrawal from Vietnam. The military was not very popular at that time. I regretted that decision in 1981, at the beginning of the first Gulf War, and again on September 11th and truly every day since. Perhaps because of my regret, I have taken seriously the sacrifice of our fellow citizens, who defend our democracy from all threats, both foreign and domestic.

I am deeply indebted to their efforts to protect our Country and in particular, my freedom. I could not write this opinion in a country ruled by a dictator or under a Theocracy, such as proposed under Project 2025. Thank you for honoring your vow to uphold the constitution of the United States. Thank you for your service.

Military service weaves through nearly every American family tree. For some families it is a direct weave through each generation. For others like mine, the weave is less conspicuous. But it is there nonetheless and each and everyone of us has a responsibility to honor those who came before us, who sacrificed their lives or put themselves in harm's way for the defense of our country.

No matter where a cemetery is located, the grave of a United States soldier is hallowed ground. This especially true at Arlington National Cemetery, where so many of our fallen heroes from all wars rest in peace. There are no exceptions for violating the rules of proper conduct. It is the law. There is no immunity card for Presidential candidates, in fact partisan politics is strictly prohibited on the grounds of the cemetery. Our fallen dead are not props to be used for political gain as shown in the August 26th photo below. That is hallowed ground.

Screenshot from Twitter post from the Trump Campaign

If you do not have even the most basic understanding of honor and respect for our heroes then you are not a patriot and you can never again be the Commander in Chief of the armed forces of these United States. You should be treated as you have treated others who have faithfully served our country- without honor and without respect.

The defense of our democracy weaves through every family in the great country. Pull at that weave and you pull apart the fabric that covers and protects our great nation. That is more than just disrespectful, it's unreproachable, it's disgusting, and it's unacceptable.

And for those who would post a photograph of President Obama laying a wreath at a gravesite at Arlington National cemetery as a response: don't be dumb. The President of the United States laying a wreath at the grave of a fallen soldier on Memorial Day, is an official act of the government, and usually shown on every Weekend local news program. You aren't fooling anyone. And neither is your candidate, Donald Trump. It is time to choose your country over party.

Harpazo - The Crucible - A Concept Album of Near Perfection

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Wed, 12 Jun 2024 20:04:00 -0400

By Rick Dante

It is not very often I listen to a concept album and envision a play, with full sets, actors in costume, each scene advancing the dark plot of global domination, where citizens are given serums (voluntarily) to turn them into well, the Borg. if you ever wanted to establish a foundation for this story beyond Good and Evil, one built upon societal influences that exist in our world today, then jab people in the arm with a serum that allows you total control over their minds, over their bodies that become fortified into eternal soldiers for their newly risen God, add in a Princess, and include an invincible Trans-human (part robot, not sex change) assassin who is sent to kill the rebel leaders who have refused to abandon their Christian religion for the *cough* new world order.

Now throw them all into the classical never-ending war between God and Satan, and I would bet you are listening to Harpazo- The Crucible. If that is the fact, then I can see your eyes wide-open and I can hear you whisper incredulously "WTF" because you just reached Track 6 and yes, WTF is appropriate here, there, and everywhere on this Metal Opera album from the brilliant mind of Marc Centanni and his equally mind-blowing Producer Gary Wehrkamp.

Are there weaknesses in this album? Few. Oh so very few. I would be splitting hairs if I said it would have been nice if the female lead vocals were of equal to the male vocalists, but I have seen some pretty damn talented vocalists wither away when standing next to a singing DC Cooper (Royal Hunt). I may modify this opinion later in my review. So let's drop that for now and move into the story and music of Harpazo- The Crucible.

How can you successfully transition from global destruction and death into a weirdly psychotic and sad "Jesus Loves Me" children's song (suddenly I was five years old and terrified) and make it actually work? After that try turning that children's song into a Rock Anthem and people will be laughing at you, unless you do it like this, because this works. Again, in every song it works, just all fits together, the music, the story, the concept are united into one excellent adventure. That is exactly what you want from a concept album and Harpazo nailed this one to the Honor Wall of Concept Albums. Not unlike Martin Luther nailing his Ninety-Five theses to the green door of the church. While we are discussing classical concepts, let's step into art versus music for a just moment.

Specifically, let's compare the music of Harpazo- The Crucible with art, from a layman's perspective, of course. Michelangelo's Statue of David is a Masterpiece. You walk into the chamber, perfectly designed for viewing the statue, and David encourages you to approach him. You circle David and he is a young man, earnest and striving, and then from the next angle David is an adult, mature and comfortable with himself, then as you continue to circle, David ages. He is wiser, more resolute, and perhaps more cynical. It is one carving of one man, yet the many faces of David's life are observed as your view of the statue changes. How did the sculptor do that? WTF. You realize then that Michelangelo's statue of David is a Masterpiece.

This is why anyone worth their salt as a reviewer should compare this ambitious project to David, to the Sistine Chapel, to Close to the Edge, Trick of the Tail, The Wall, The White Album, Eldorado, Aqualung, Fear of a Blank Planet, and dare I say it- Tyranny before calling a concept album a "masterpiece". So what is Harpazo- The Crucible then? Conservatively, it is a near masterpiece. And why is that? Because Harpazo- The Crucible has just arrived in the world and someone, somewhere is going to turn it into a play. It will happen. The play could be successful, if produced well, and then The Crucible could be elevated to that renowned classification of "masterpiece" that some Broadway plays are blessed to enjoy.

Harpazo- The Crucible is more than album, it has potential to expand into something visually and emotionally fantastical. Will this actually happen? It may not. But when the lyrics provided are in script form, someone will want to make it into a play and after that, it's up to the public to embrace Harpazo-The Crucible, the rock opera or bounce it out of town.

There is also the musical foundation in Harpazo-The Crucible that outright refuses to be ignored- courtesy of Gary Wehrkamp's core (Shadow Gallery) prog-metal and symphonic metal expertise in musicianship and production. The musicality of the arrangements, guitars, piano, keyboards, flowing through, sometimes ripping through and elevating every song on this album is Mr. Wehrkamp at his finest. With Shadow Gallery so far removed from their last album in 2010, where can those concepts, those arrangements that artistically smashed every other prog metal band in existence, where can they be found? Here. Right here. Listen to Harpazo- The Crucible, you long-suffering Shadow Gallery fans, and your thirst will be sated.

Along with Marc Centanni and Gary Wehrkamp we have lead vocalist D.C. Cooper's distinctive, powerful vocals dominating the tracks. He truly sings on a different level than other vocalists which is truly astounding to have that much vocal command. God bless him. We cannot overlook Fate Warning's Mark Zonder usual exercise in perfection on drums. It is not a stretch to call this band a Supergroup.

Now it's time to tactically step back on subject of female vocals because the vocals on The Book of Life (Track 15) are simply beautiful and divine. Those vocals would make Annie Haslam of Renaissance proud. But how did we end up in Olde England, Mr. Centanni? Do you have a red telephone booth that transported us there? It is clear that Harpazo has no fear, they will bring musical style changes that in lesser hands would be disastrous. In the song The Book of Life, Harpazo has brought us to our Jon Anderson (YES) Wondrous Stories award for stylistic excellence. That award is not given away lightly.

Now usually, a reviewer takes the approach of critiquing each track separately, as if the sum of each is equal to the sum of the whole. On some albums that quickly becomes pretentious and ego-driven, the reviewer places himself in the position of judge, jury, and sometimes executioner of the project. That won't happen here. If you would follow one reviewer's request however, please do not listen to the sample mixes- these are sales props that give you a small slice of music from each song yet also are disconnected from each song and essentially the album as a whole. If you don't hear the transitions from one progression to the next, you are missing the absolute essence of the music. Folks today want the 10 second listen, just like their social media. But you can't take 10 seconds to study a Monet painting and you can't do that with Harpazo either. It's not a shot of whiskey at the Roadhouse, it's a glass of wine in Napa Valley. Know the difference and act accordingly.

I am thrilled to have been taken on this excellent ride. Be virtuous, be curious and listen to the album in its entirety, because that will slay you and put the WTF on your lips. And it even gets better on the second and third listen so it's definitely worth your valuable time. Simply stated, Harpazo- The Crucible is going to kick your ass, wash over you like a waterfall, and send you away ready to get in line to ride the adventure again. Go nail it to your wall now with your other favorites and then go see the play someday.

Harpazomusic.com

DC Cooper – Royal Hunt

Gary Wehrkamp – Shadow Gallery / Ayreon

Mark Zonder – Fates Warning / Warlord

Les Carlsen – Bloodgood

Rey Parra – Deny the Fallen / Sacred Warrior

Christian Liljegren – Narnia

Michael Drive Lee – Barren Cross / Worldview

Niklas Kah – Lord of the Lost / Flaming Row

Lee Lemperle – Outside the Wall

Bruno Sa – Operation Mindcrime

Enzo and the Glory Ensemble band

-A Rockshots Records Release-

Tracks

1 - Ichor [feat. DC Cooper]

2 - Legion Program

3 - I Am God

4 - Golden Crown [feat. DC Cooper & Enzo and the Glory Ensemble band)

5 - The Crucible [feat. DC Cooper & Michael Drive]

6 – I am God

7 - Change Of Heart Pt. 1 [feat. DC Cooper & Les Carlson]

8 - Ultimatum [feat. DC Cooper]

9 - We Are Weak

10 - Small Price To Pay [feat. Christian Liljegren & DC Cooper]

11 - Change Of Heart Pt. 2 [feat. DC Cooper]

12 - We Are Weak

13 - Small Price To Pay [feat. Christian Liljegren & DC Cooper]

14 - Change Of Heart Pt. 2 [feat. DC Cooper]

15- The Book Of Life

Preorder "The Crucible" Now!
Release June 28th
USA - https://amzn.to/3yEMLi6
INTL - https://bit.ly/HarpazoCD

I am God - lyric Video

Carry Me Home

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Sat, 25 May 2024 03:18:00 -0400

Waiting For You

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Fri, 18 Aug 2023 12:19:00 -0400

The Coyote

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Thu, 17 Aug 2023 22:39:00 -0400

Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris Review (2022)

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Fri, 17 Mar 2023 18:23:00 -0400

Every once in a great while a movie comes along that finds its greatness within the period in which it is based. We are reminded of a simpler time, where morals were more universally celebrated, fashion was iconic for its tribute to grace and beauty, and where a protagonist is purely that, so much so that it is through their positivity for life, that positive change is given room to grow. Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris is such a story, delightful, wistful, and as graceful as a 1950's Christian Dior evening dress.

Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris is based on a novella written by Paul Gallico and directed by award-winning film Director Anthony Fabian, who also shares writing and producing credits for this film. The movie stars Leslie Manville as an English cleaning lady who saves and gambles to obtain enough money to travel to Paris to purchase a Christian Dior dress, a lifelong dream of hers.

Arriving at Christian Dior, a Haute Couture shop that caters only to wealthy, Hollywood stars, and royalty, Mrs. Harris (Leslie Manville) finds herself on the outside looking in. Her indominable spirit in the face of rejection endears her to royalty (Marquis de Chassagne played by Lambert Wilson), a Dior model (Natasha by Alba Baptista), and a Dior Accountant (André Fauvel by Lucas Bravo), while also making enemies, especially of the President of the Dior company (Claudine Colbert by Isabelle Hupert) who repeatedly tries to find new ways to remove Mrs. Harris from the shop.

The story is sweet, the Dior collection used in the movie was simply divine, each outfit modeled in the Dior salesroom was breathtaking, as was our peek into the cutting and sewing rooms, not often seen in real life but beautifully portrayed in the movie.

While the underlying theme may be that while class divisions do exist, the upper-class should be open to the dreams and desires of the class of workers directly below them, that there is a wealth of knowledge to be shared between all classes. Mrs. Harris teaches us that our dreams do not have to be any grander than a Christian Dior dress to make dreams come true to the people we touch along the way, no matter their status in life.

Leslie Manville's flawless performance as Ada Harris is the foundation that every other actor has to stand upon, she is the movie's strength, as she carries the story to its predictable yet quite lovely ending. By the time we reach the movie's conclusion, she and her new friends at Christian Dior learn that generosity is a gift that one should not be recklessly given to people who don't respect you- that self-respect and respect you earn are a shared character trait.

This is an excellent film, well-directed, brilliantly acted, and beautifully costumed with a sweet story that will touch your heart as it did mine.

The Final Weight Loss Challenge

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Mon, 6 Feb 2023 20:56:00 -0500

On November 25th I weighed the heaviest of my life at 384 pounds. There is no excuse for being that much overweight. My last official weight, registered at my Doctor's office on November 18th was 377 pounds. The medical term for my weight is "morbidly obese". It was time for my Final Weight Loss Challenge.

I will only do this one time and get it right because just like many of you, I've tried the diets, the running, the gym membership that I end up not using, the fasting, the prayers, the untold number of books, articles, and that doesn't include all the stories I tagged on Flipboard to read later. I've posted on Facebook, even joined a Facebook fitness group that later asked me to leave because I didn't do the work. I've failed at losing weight more times than I can remember.

When I signed up for weight loss surgery I was told I had to lose 60 pounds before they would consider surgery. I had to prove desire. I failed at that too. I can not begin to count how many times on a Friday I vowed to start my diet on Monday. I vowed to exercise starting on Monday. Does this sound familiar? If so, I feel your pain.

At a funeral on Long Island last February I ran into a relative of my brother in law, through marriage. The man was slightly overweight all the previous times we had shared a dinner with family over the holidays. At the funeral, not having seen him in over 3 years, he was in excellent shape. I asked him what was his secret and he replied "22 days. It takes 22 days to change a lifestyle." I took it to heart. It was time to get serious, log in my 22 days, and change my lifestyle.

For this final challenge I decided that I would not follow a particular diet but rather rely on four important words: common sense and self control. Months earlier I learned a valuable lesson about myself that I would apply to the final challenge. We rented a house on Moosehead Lake for a weekend. Once there and relaxed, I wasn't hungry. I didn't want snacks, candy, junk food, and I couldn't finish my portions at lunch and dinner. I wasn't sick. I was relaxed. I'm a stress eater. That's what I learned.

Although I gained weight before I became a Town Manager, it accelerated in that position. As we approached a major life change, moving to California, retiring from public service, and buying a new home, I decided this was the perfect opportunity to begin the final challenge. We moved thanksgiving week, I bought a bicycle and began riding daily.

By the end of December I was up to 4.5 to 5 miles per day and I was dropping weight. Then on Monday, January 9th I fell of my bike when I hit a curb and fractured my leg. It was a serious break that required surgery. I could have thrown up my arms and given up. But I am retired, and I am not stress eating any more. Three meals a day is all I need and I am following my mantra of common sense and self control. My snacks are fruit, melon, pineapple, sugar free jello cups, and peaches.

Even though I am laid up, my lifestyle has not changed. When I left the hospital I weighed 365 pounds. Every Monday I weigh in. Today, Monday, February 6th, I weighed in at 346.8 pounds.

My journey continues for a healthier body and mind.

I will report on my progress as it continues.

Rick

Mutant Mouse Chronicles: The California Experience

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Sun, 5 Feb 2023 01:38:00 -0500

We have moved to California. Not a big city like Los Angeles, or a shi shi moo Palm Springs. We moved to lovely city in the Upper Mohave Desert, Ridgecrest- home of China Lake Naval Air Warfare Base.

Every weekday and some weeknights we can hear the jets roaring overhead as they practice dogfights, missile launches, and whatever top secret testing we are not on the need to know list to report to you.

What they say here is that roar of jet engines overhead is the sound of freedom, We moved from Bangor Maine to Ridgecrest over Thanksgiving holiday. We bought a gorgeous home on a quiet cul-de-sac and our yard is a walled in fortress. Last night the temperature in Bangor Maine was -39 degrees. In Ridgecrest our low was 48 and our high was 65 degrees and sunny.

Now that we are settled in, my plan with this blog is to re-purpose it to become a daily personal journal to share with the reader.

Were going to have shorter articles, less opinion and more personal observation about life. I will keep political comments and religious issues on the back burner. Looking forward to the next phase of The Mutant Mouse Chronicles.

Diffle County Report: A PFAS Educational Lunch

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Sat, 31 Dec 2022 12:49:00 -0500

Township Supervisor “Big Don” was sitting in his usual spot, the Chairman seat at the center of the meeting table in the former fire hall, now the Grinold Town office- he was facing the front window and door. A white Jeep Cherokee pulled into the small parking lot in front of the building and stopped. There was a seal on the side of the car door that said in the round Circle Commonwealth of Pennsylvania Pennsylvania Department of Environmental Protection. In the center of the seal was a modern illustration of a river flowing between two mountains.

“Uh no, the Woke nation has arrived.” Big Don grinned as he spoke after four, somewhat unkempt-looking recent college graduates walked through the door.

“Hi, we’re from the DEP,” said the lead person as they walked single file to Dave’s favorite spot and stood in a single line opposite from Big Don at the meeting table.

“Well, I am glad that’s settled”, Big Don replied, “Otherwise you’d have to explain why you’re driving a vehicle with a DEP seal on the door.” He laughed. The DEP reps were so quiet you could hear the chickens laying eggs in the coop on the property next door.

“What can I do for you fine gentlemen and ladies this afternoon?”, Don asked as he folded up the newspaper he had been reading, the headline clearly visible on the front page. PFAS Contaminates All-Natural Farm”

“My name is Dr. Linda Prior and I am a Chemical Analyst with DEP. You have an old town dump nearby? We want to test the monitoring wells for PFAS.” Linda did not smile.

Big Don leaned back in his chair and pulled open the third drawer from the top of the filing cabinet behind him, reached in and retrieved a brown file folder. He dropped it onto the table in front of DEP’s Dr. Linda Prior.

“We closed that dump 45 years ago. My father was the elected Supervisor at the time. He obtained a closure permit from DEP and that dump was sealed as per your Department’s permit. We received a clean bill of health” Big Don frowned as he spoke, “My name is Don Rider and I am the Secretary/Treasurer of this township. You can call me Big Don if you’d like.” Then he smiled a good ol’ boy grin, “that’s what my friends call me.”

A few more chicken eggs were laid.

“We are investigating for the presence of PFAS in your town dump”, she paused a moment then smiled back, “That is very impressive that you have readily available, information on your dump from 45 years ago. Did you know we were coming?”

“We’ve kept it handy for the past 45 years. My Daddy said you’d be back.” Big Don grinned broadly at the DEP quartet. “What is this PFAS you’re looking for?”

“Looks like you just read about it in the newspaper,” Linda calmly replied. She pointed to the headline still visible on the folded newspaper.

“Doctor Prior, if you knew me you’d already know I only read the Obituaries and Comics of this particular newspaper,” said Big Don. “Now why don’t you, a chemical analyst working with our DEP, explain to me, what PFAS is, please.”

Dr. Linda Prior took in a deep breath and began, saying,

“Per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances are synthetic organofluorine chemical compounds that have multiple fluorine atoms attached to an alkyl chain. As such, they contain at least one perfluoroalkyl moiety...”

Big Don interrupted, “In Layman’s terms, please.”

Dr. Prior smiled, her eyes twinkling with subtle delight,

“They are chemicals that are used in the manufacture of every day products, from frying pans and waterproof jackets to foam used by firefighters. They do not degrade due to their chemical bond and there is a growing concern among scientists like myself, that they may have a harmful effect on the human body, on wild and domestic animals, and of course the environment.”

Big Don listened intently. “Teflon” he replied.

Dr. Prior, who recently received her PHD from Maine State University, nodded affirmatively, and with a nod of her head, tossed her short, cropped strawberry-blonde hair to the side, then offered her freckled hand, which Big Don shook respectively.

“I am Dr. Linda Prior. I am working with Pennsylvania DEP as part of a major study at Maine State, where I teach graduate studies in Chemical Engineering.” She smiled, “with me is John Stuart of DEP, Bryce Roberts of DEP, and Adam Wheeler, a graduate student from Maine State whose thesis is the study of PFAS.”

Everyone shook hands with Big Don and after introductions were concluded John Stuart pulled a set of maps from a tube he was holding and opened them across the table. Big Don, John, and Dr. Prior leaned over a map of the old Town dump.

John Stuart pointed to three locations on the map.

“We will test the monitoring wells here, here, and here.”

It was at this point that Supervisor Larry Gates walked in from the side door to the town garage. He was taller than Big Don, balding with a dark brown comb over, clean shaven, his nose crooked from a bar fight too long ago to matter, and his teeth crooked from the pipe he kept firmly in place, except to speak and he had something to say that morning.

“I see we are having a PFAS party right here in the ‘Ol Grin. I was listening on the other side of that door, “ said Larry, pointing back at the door he had just walked through, “I actually read that article, read a few more articles on-line, called a Professor friend and we had a nice chat. So if you all don’t mind, I have a few questions for Doctor Prior and our good DEP friends.”

Doctor Prior replied in her best professional voice, “I will do my best to answer your questions.”

“So will I.” replied John Stuart.

Larry Gates tapped his cherry pipe in his left hand.

“Just a few questions. What studies have been completed that confirmed PFAS is harmful to humans at the levels you are testing?”

Dr. Prior looked directly into Supervisor Gate’s eyes, “Scientists are still studying the health effects of PFAS on humans and in the environment.”

Larry continued tapping his pipe into his hand.

“ Are there any studies that have conclusively proven there is a health hazard? He sat down next to Big Don at the table.

Dr. Prior pulled up a chair across from Supervisor Gates and replied, “Preliminary studies suggest negative impacts on the nervous system, and other parts of the body. They can be found in soil, water , and air.”

Larry Gates frowned slightly, “You didn’t answer my question, but I will answer it for you by quoting a verified source.”

Larry pulled his phone out of his pocket and began typing. A few minutes passed. Big Don asked if they wanted to stay for lunch, it was hot dog Thursday and there was plenty to go around. The DEP group politely declined.

“Ah here it is, the website for the National Institute of Health, you know who I mean, the N.I.H.” Larry paused and then began reading from the website,

“Quote, more research is needed to fully understand all sources of exposure, and if and how they cause health problems, unquote.”

“Yes, that’s true” replied Dr. Prior.

Larry glanced at the map, then raised his eyes to look at John Stuart. “John, my name is Larry and I am an elected Supervisor. What is EPA’s regulatory standard for PFAS in groundwater?”

Big Don began to grin.

John ran his fingers back through his curly hair and smiled, “There is no EPA regulatory standard for PFAS. There may soon be regulatory standards for two of these forever chemicals , PFOA and PFOS” said DEP’s John Stuart.

Larry replied without hesitation, “Is it true John that PFAS is a catch-all for thousands of chemicals of differing levels and toxicities and that the complicated nature of PFAS and its widespread presence in our environment makes it very difficult to evaluate?”

John looked at his shoes and replied, “yes, that’s true.”

Big Don excused himself to get the crockpot of hotdogs, sauerkraut, and a bag of rolls.

Larry pulled out a pouch and began filling his pipe.

“I have a question about testing. When you test our well for total coliform. you teste in parts per million, correct?”

A town truck pulled into the front parking lot, followed by a Blake Township Ford 350 4-wheel drive pick up truck. Five men and a woman, all dressed in work blues got out of the two vehicles, walked in, surveyed the situation, then quickly exited through the side door into the town garage.

John Stuart replied, "Yes, the standard is 0 coliform per 100 ml. or parts per million.”

Larry nodded affirmatively. “So if I were to purchase nine hundred and ninety nine thousand pieces of white confetti paper of identical size and one piece of black confetti paper of identical size and filled this room with all of them could the black confetti piece would represent a failed coliform drinking water test?”

John paused. A SAAB pulled into the parking lot, then a Lincoln and in walked the town attorney and Judge Walthers. After a short wave, both walked into the garage. The conversations in the garage were beginning to increase in intensity and volume.

“Technically, that is a basic description, but yes.” John Stuart replied.

More trucks and cars parked in the front lot, parking behind each other and blocking the two garage doors at the front of the building. Big Don opened one of the two garage doors and waved people directly into the garage.

Dr. Linda Prior stood up and leaned over the desk, directly across from Larry and said,

“ I know where this is going so please allow me to save you the time with an explanation on the controversy, but first I have to ask, is there some sort of meeting here today?”, Linda asked, raising her voice to compete with the loud laughter coming from the garage.

At that moment the side door to the garage opened and in walked ten men from four different fire companies. Each Man had a hot dog and bun in one hand and a diet coke in the other hand.

Larry smiled. “There is no meeting. It’s hot dog Thursday. Kind of popular around here. We usually serve lunch in the meeting room, but we are making some accommodation for your unannounced visit. However, you are welcome to join us if you like. Food is on a card table in the garage, soda pop in the cooler on the floor.”

At that moment the side door burst open and Grinold Township Road worker Billy “the kid” Johnstone walked in carrying a crockpot stuffed with hot dogs and sauerkraut. He was followed by Judge Walthers carrying the hot dog buns, paper plates, napkins and two open bags of potato chips.

“Help yourselves to lunch,” said the kid.

The room filled up with the lunch crowd and who took seats and began to eat their lunch while watching the entertainment.

Larry smiled at Dr. Linda Prior and John Stuart. “Looks like lunch has found you anyway.”

Before long, everyone except Larry and Dr. Prior were enjoying their hot dog lunch. Larry continued with his questions,

“Please Dr. Prior, don’t assume what my next question will be. In the spirit of cooperation allow me to re-phrase my questions.” Dr. Prior nodded in agreement.

“ Were you able to find these chemicals testing in parts per million?”

“No.” she replied.

“Parts per billion?” Larry frowned.

She shook her head back and forth and stated, "No."

“Parts per trillion?” he asked.

“Yes.” she replied, “But let me explain how..

Larry interrupted her, “Do you test any other substances in parts per trillion?

“No, but there are over 2,000 chemicals that fall under the PFAS umbrella.” Dr. Rider leaned in closer, “you obviously know enough about PFAS to know that we have to move quickly to stop people from getting exposed.”

Larry leaned forward until they were both almost nose to nose, “From what I understand 75% of us already are infected in parts per trillion. Now I also understand Maine has set a regulatory standard, is that right?

Dr. Prior smiled, walked over to the crockpot and pulled out the last hotdog, “Yes, at 70 Parts per trillion.”

Larry nodded, looked down at the table. The room was quiet, not a soul dared speak, just the crunching sound of potato chips being eaten, and sodas being sipped.

“ Is that consistent with EPA regulatory requirements, oh wait forgive me, their recommended guidelines? There is a difference, of course.” Larry and Big Don both chuckled and there were a few giggles from the audience.

“NO, it’s not. It’s more stringent but we feel it is necessary and proper to set a standard that best protects our citizens.” Dr. Rider bit into the most delicious hot dog she had ever tasted. “These are amazing”.

Big Don nodded in response and said, “They’re homemade. I think if you ask the kid, we are eating what was left of Bessie the cow and Fluffy the pig.”

The kid then jumped in, “and some venison for flavoring.”

Dr. Prior gently paced the remains of her hot dog on her plate. Her four colleagues did the same.

Big Don smiled at the room, “Well, those dogs were locally sourced, from the farm animals to the grain we fed them, and I’m betting there may be a few parts per trillion of that PFAS in them- that you are looking for." The crowd tried to hold back their chuckles and giggles but a few slipped through.

Don looked over at Larry, then at Judge Walthers, “Your Honor, I hope we haven’t compromised your judicial impartiality should a PFAS lawsuit end up on your docket.”

Judge Walthers raised his 6 foot frame out of the folding chair, pushed back his silver hair, and began to walk to the door, waving back as he went, “Not a chance of that, Don. And I will see you same time next Thursday. Thanks for lunch.”

Larry stood up, deep in thought, he looked down at the table, over that the half-eaten hot dog, then up at Dr. Prior as he began to speak slowly at first, and then faster, in a clear, unmistakable tone of person who has had enough.

“Doctor, these folks have their own townships and jobs to get to, and I have a meeting with our township attorney who I can see is just now finishing his lunch.

You are welcome to test our monitoring wells, but if I read even one article about one of our farmers giving up their crops because they legally applied sludge on their farmland under a DEP permit for the past 20-years under State regulations for goodness sake, and you find PFAS on their farms, or you find PFAS in our monitoring wells and attempt to reopen the closure permit DEP issued and final approved 40 years ago, I promise you I will personally lead the charge statewide to fight any and all regulations you attempt to pass. I sit on the Pennsylvania Regulatory Advisory Board and no regulation gets approved without our approval.”

Dr. Prior nodded her head and said, “Well, sir, I’m glad you don’t live in Maine.” She motioned to the DEP representatives that it was time to go. “Thank you all for your assistance. Have a great day”

Big Don walked the group to the door. “Time to go. Keep in touch. Don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya!”

As the DEP contingent started up their engines, Larry stood up, scratched a mosquito bite on his left arm while grinning at Big Don.

“These damn tree-huggers never quit. They’ll test in parts per quadrillion if they can have something new they can regulate and ruin good people’s lives. And you can bet those new regulations will have a loophole for the corporate farms but not for the local farmers.”

Big Don grabbed cleaned up the lunch fixings and nodded to Larry Gates, “you mean poorly regulate, don’t you? But she did seem very serious, Larry. You sure there aren’t any conclusive studies on this?

Larry paused for a moment, “well, there is one. PFAS has a tendency to stunt the growth in Caucasian males.”

Don laughed. “Generally speaking, Caucasians are not the tallest of men”

Larry nodded, “Well, they can blame PFAS for that too.”

And with that, the Thursday locally-sourced hot dog lunch at the Grinold Township building was over.

Baby, I Was Wrong

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Fri, 30 Dec 2022 12:46:00 -0500

Our Maine Experience

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Thu, 22 Dec 2022 14:52:00 -0500

It will be a month today since we packed up the big truck in Bangor, Maine and pointed her nose for the Mojave Desert of California. The trip from Bangor to Ridgecrest totaled 3,351 miles, took seven days, several hotels, Thanksgiving dinner at a Denny's in New Mexico, a few disagreements, a fender bender, $1500.00 in gasoline, $3,600 in truck rental costs, and a four-day hotel stay at our destination at $200.00 a day while we waited for the sale process to complete and we had keys to our new home. It wasn't a pleasant experience but from the beginning we treated this move as a mission, not a pleasure drive. It was a required journey.

One thing I know for sure- while we miss the people we worked with and the friendships that we forged, we do not miss everyone we met. Here is another truth, if it wasn't for Maine and Covid-19, and for a flooded walkway to our home last Spring that turned into a major landscaping project, we wouldn't be living in this lovely home we own in California. We are grateful for the bounty for it came from hard work with no thought of reward.

We fell in love with Maine through several vacation trips over ten years. The scenery is astonishing, diverse, and no trip was the same, each visit was an exploration of another natural area within the State. The seafood was beyond delicious, it was culinary excellence. Some of the people were rather cranky, but we had been there several times and had only had a few unpleasant encounters, So we moved there with every intention to spend the rest of our lives in Maine. Three years later? Maine is no longer our home.

I won't linger long on our time in Maine. There won't be a Diffle County or some other fictional piece based upon our Maine experience. We explored, we ate delicious seafood, explored some more, and lived a quiet life in a quiet mobile home community. We also nearly died from Covid-19, fought the good fight trying to do our jobs against prejudice, resistance, unnecessary roadblocks, passive-aggressive obstructionists, threats of bodily harm, and even an offer of murder. After three years we both knew that it wasn't the Maine winters that we couldn't handle. As the saying goes, it only takes a few bad apples to spoil the whole barrel.

To understand Mainers you only need to know this - they would rather vacation in their own State than anywhere else. Maine is not your vacationland, it's their vacationland. Mainers know tourism is important for their State and it is the perfect place for tourism to thrive, but then when the tourist season is over they would like you to leave, thank you very much. They have sheds on sleds at their camps and as soon as the lakes freeze, those sheds slide out onto the ice. Let the ice fishing commence. That's not all.

When the snow flies they are on the trails with their snowmobiles and ATV's, enjoying the land their Great Grand Daddies fought to keep against the weather, the bears, the wolves, the bobcats, the weasels and fishers, the chiggers and ticks, against the British, the Bostonians, and sometimes the French, and against those folks "from away" who did not sacrifice as their families had, and then against the weather again and again and again. Maine mud is real and if you get stuck chances are the tow truck will get stuck trying to get to you. Put on your big-boy pants, Maine is not a resort, it is hard living and its inhabitants are rough and ready for anything that gets thrown at them.

Sadly, there are the provincial Mainers who don't want outsiders to tell them how to improve their community, they don't want advice, they're insulted when you provide guidance, and because of that they will tear down anyone "from away" who actually may want to improve their town. In the end, the outsiders usually leave and isolationists win- and Maine takes another step backwards in time. Just like my bosses told me when they hired me, "We don't want anything to change." I wish they understood that's impossible. Change will come, it always does.

But let's stop with the negatives right there. There were so many kind, caring people I met and worked with that I do not want to twist this into something it is not. I loved every member my staff, my road crew, and almost every firefighter. (That last sentence was for Char-lin.) I loved my elected bosses, except the newest one (who lacks a moral compass to rise above her own self-interest.) She's an exception. I've already developed a fictional character based loosely on her actions- named La Meer, she will be a very large Maine Coon Cat, and will be featured in a future novel. She will not be the heroine.

I truly love these good people, of solid Maine stock, who care about their community and serve it so well. They are my friends and I am honored to be their friend also.

We will miss the Western Mountains, the Lakes Region, the Mid-Coast, the Bold Coast, the Northern Wilderness, the cities of Bangor and Portland, the Central Highlands, and Baxter State Park, We will miss Acadia, Blue Hill, Camden, Rockport, Rockland, Belfast, Brewer, Greenville, Dexter, St. Albans, and Moosehead Lake, possibly the most beautiful lake I have ever seen.

I deeply miss my St. Albans family, in spite of all the harrassment from the unsullied, I will always love Maine and my Mainer friends have a place forever in my heart. I'm sure we will be back sometime soon, probably after the spring thaw.

Even though they can't make a cheesesteak to save their lives, and their pizza is a travesty, they are some of the finest people I have ever met.

Rick

Reality Defeats Wanderlust in Final Round

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Wed, 14 Dec 2022 20:21:00 -0500

Would You Buy a Dead Cactus?

Wanderlust started strong, with several right jabs and a good uppercut. Reality was stunned, bloodied, and ineffective with its counter punches. But Reality prefers the fifteen round fight and has an unbeaten record. But we fought on, scoring punches with trips to Maine from Pennsylvania, and then actually moving there - nearly a 7th round knock out - and then exploring all the natural sights that Maine has to offer. We mapped our trips on a large map of Maine that was tacked to our door, and we even started a website "We Explore Maine" but reality had a great counter punch to that - Covid-19. Who was going to explore Maine under those conditions?

Reality, sensing victory, added more hard blows to the body and then to the head. Our dear Uncle Jim died after a short bout with cancer. My father passed away. Our niece lost her baby in child birth. My Great Nephew was murdered in cold blood on a sunny Sunday in the parking lot of a Target Superstore. My wife's brother died suddenly due to alcohol poisoning, an addiction he couldn't beat. Then our dog Sonnet became seriously ill and had to be put down.

Wanderlust tried vainly with some clever moves, floating like a monarch butterfly, stinging like a small bee with weekend trips to the coast. Wanderlust was getting beat, and a knockout was likely. Dinner at Masons Brewery on the Penobscot River- nothing more than a glancing jab.

Finally, Maine got in the corner with reality and after a flurry of punches that hit hard, we saw the victory ahead for reality and Wanderlust threw in the towel. We packed up, retired from boxing, and moved to California to be closer to family.

Wanderlust lost the fight because it needed to lose the fight, and to lose every fight. Reality wins because for all its harshness, it also brings clarity, responsibility, and love into union. Our health improves, and our view of the world improves as well, because it is based upon the undefeated, the reality of our own lives.

The Call of the Sea

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Tue, 13 Dec 2022 05:56:00 -0500

Tall Ship Hawaiian Chieftain in Salmon Bay

I have always wanted to live at the ocean. When I was a child, every summertime Wednesday we would pack the station wagon with beach gear and my father and mother would drive us (Robby, Randy, Ricky, and Rusty) to Ship Bottom, New Jersey. This is where I discovered body-surfing and Yoo Hoo chocolate drink.

When I was in my mid-twenties I worked for a ship reporting service in Philadelphia as a dispatcher and later held a similar job with a tugboat company. As nearly every sailor will tell you, there is something about the sea that draws you in and never releases you. You are as hooked as a marlin on the end of a fishing line.

Tall Ship Lady Washington

The magnificent beauty of the Puget Sound is a tonic for a damaged soul, a vibrant combination of sight, sounds, and smells that will stay strong in your memory for many years. I fell in love with the sweet Pacific Ocean breezes that poured in through open windows.

In the photographs above and the the right, the steamship paddle boat Queen of Seattle was turning around in Salmon Bay near the Ballard locks. Suddenly out of the locks appeared two tall ships. Lady Washington arrived first. She starred in the first Pirates of Caribbean movie. Following her out of the locks was the tall ship Hawaiian Chieftain. The Lady Washington actually circled our ship and our Captain jokingly exclaimed "We're surrounded by pirates!"

From July through October of 2012, I spent most of my working days on the steamship paddle boat "Queen of Seattle". Once owned by Alaska Travel Adventures, a company that lost its way with this purchase, she was built in a Sacramento backyard by a wealthy Californian obsessed with steam engines.

The Queen of Seattle is a 149 foot long steam-powered paddle boat- the largest such vessel west of the Mississippi River. Her capacity is 243 people. She was built to reflect an earlier time in history. She is a combination of old and new construction.

She is a lovely ship, built from decommissioned World War 2 Navy ships that were struck from the Navy register and sold for scrap. She may be haunted by the ghost of her builder, or of the men who fought and died on the decks of the ships she was built from....

According to public records, some of the Queen's windows are from the USS Calvert (APA-32), a Crescent City- Class Attack Transport whose superior service to the U.S. Navy won her ten battle stars and a Navy Unit Commendation. In Word War II, the USS Calvert landed troops in North Africa, Sicily, Philippine Islands, Gilbert Islands, Kwajalein, Marianas, Saipan, and the occupation of Japan. She was commissioned again for the Korean war and for a final service in the Vietnam war. The builder of the Queen was transported home from the Pacific theater on the USS Calvert.

I washed those windows every week and often thought about our passengers looking through at the city of Seattle, not knowing that our soldiers and sailors once looked through those same windows on a journey a very different, and often deadly reality. I owed it to those soldiers, many who never returned, to keep that glass clean for the folks who rode the Queen in leisure in the summer of 2012.

Her controls were from the USS Interpreter, a radar picket ship that was part of our early warning defense system and would sail for weeks at a time on the Pacific Ocean. Originally a private freighter, the USS Interpreter was purchased by the US Navy and outfitted for her mission at the Philadelphia Naval Yard- on the same Delaware River where I dispatched tugboats, including a few times to the navy yard itself.

I stood at the helm several times that summer and piloted the Queen of Seattle using the controls from the USS Interpreter. "Keep her mid-ship Mr. Fisher" the Captain would growl in that salty Captain voice after we passed under the Fremont bridge and entered "The Cut", a man-made canal that joins Lake Union to the Puget Sound.

Naval Personnel aboard the USS Calvert

The Queen of Seattle was originally christened the Elizabeth Louise. She was built over a ten-year span between 1975 and 1985 on a vacant scrapyard lot by 63-year old crane operator Hal Wilmunder.

Her paddle engines were built in 1884 and were installed on at least 5 different ships, finally ending up on the tugboat Detroiter, which worked on the Ohio River. The engines were later sold for scrap. Capt. Wilmunder found them and then built a boat to fit them. He launched the Elizabeth Louise on the Sacramento River in September of 1985.

USS Interpreter

Hal Wilmunder died tragically after he fell off the stern of the paddle boat and drowned in the Sacramento River on Easter Sunday, April 20, 2003. That isn't something that was mentioned on the tour narration and probably for good reason. According to published reports, the ship's door alarm had gone off and Hal went to investigate. At that time Alaska Travel Adventures (ATA) had offered Hal Wilmunder 1-million dollars for the Queen but he refused, his seller price at 3-million. After his death, his widow sold the ship to ATA...for one million dollars. They took it to Alaska and renamed it Alaskan Queen. The venture failed and they moved her to Seattle and renamed her Seattle Queen but didn't bother to change the large AQ they installed between the steam stacks above the wheelhouse.

On the day he disappeared, Hal had placed his a wallet and watch on the upstairs bar of the Queen. Then he took his final swim. His body was recovered 3 days later, a few miles downriver from the ship. There were questions about how someone who built and knew every square inch of that ship could fall and hit his head on the paddle wheel. What does the paddle wheel have to do with the door alarm? After a short investigation his death was ruled accidental. But he was known to have enemies and there were rumors he may have caught a thief, or his death was arranged- that it was no accident- but if that were true, the evidence died with Mr. Wilmunder, Some say his ghost haunts the vessel and many of the mechanical issues that ultimately ended the Queen's daily cruises were of suspicious nature.

For some, questions remain: Why was Hal Wilmunder on board the Elizabeth Louise on Easter Sunday? Why do some of us believe his spirit may still be aboard the Queen? Why did the ship constantly have major mechanical problems?

We will never have the answers but here is my truth - Hal Wilmunder built a paddle boat masterpiece out of scrap iron from decommissioned naval vessels. The Elizabeth Louise is a beautiful ship deserving better than the junk tours she barely endured.

I will never forget the Queen of Seattle. I loved those few short months I rode her, and she will forever hold a special place in my heart.

Crazy Billy & Rafter Kat (Waiting for You)

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Sun, 25 Sep 2022 10:50:00 -0400

Time to Write New Stories

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Fri, 9 Jul 2021 00:22:00 -0400

I have decided to place music on the back burner. Let it simmer. Stir occasionally. Add a few seasonings from time to time. While I am passionate about creating new songs, there comes a point where it feels rather absurd, self-centric, and maybe childish too. It can be very cathartic and relaxing. There is fun in the creation, but there is also so much work to perfect it and that takes time. I don't have an endless supply of time.

Stories from Diffle County, The Adventures of Nikolast, and The Ice Bridge will be my focus for the next year. The click click click of the keyboard will be my music. There will be no political commentary of any kind, at least not in a real world setting- I can't guarantee that my stories won't reflect the changing political playground we call a Democracy.

I also am aware that some people believe that all the birds on the planet have been replaced by bird-like drones and they are watching us. That explains why my bird feeder isn't that popular. Drones don't need to eat.

Also, would someone tell the U.S. Bird Drone Replacement Agency to move the mockingbird away from my bedroom window. He/she is talented and also very obnoxious at 4:30 a.m., so please re-station him/her to another street, closer to the guy in my neighborhood who hates squirrels.

Have squirrels been replaced by drones as well?

A quick shout out to my 4 loyal followers. Wow. Are you also drones?

RDF

The Failure of Our Home Healthcare System

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Sat, 26 Dec 2020 11:41:00 -0500

There are clear choices that have to be made in a pandemic on who gets a hospital bed and who gets an IV and sent home to work on recovery from there.

Then there is the support system for both choices. The first is following an established regimen for treatment of a virus that has already killed hundreds of thousands of people around the world. The support for this is strong and effective.

But what about the latter of the two? If a person is sent home, the follow up with a home health care professional would be a critical component to maintaining bed space in the hospital while also treating patients just below that level of care, but needing an elevated care as well. This level of care doesn't exist

The health service companies and most assuredly the insurance companies would like you to believe that a system of aftercare does exist and there is an after care available- weeks afterwards where the crisis is over and you don't need one more retired nurse to remind you to take your meds.

What is missing in this pandemic is clear, multi tiered approach to fight the virus at all levels in in every patient in an immediate manner.

Why is it missing ? I don't know because there could have been community outreach training, identification and allocation of required essential equipment personnel just for this purpose.

When the Secretary of the Treasury takes back 500 billion in COVID 19 because it went unspent, then one can only conclude it was never designed to be spent.

I don't place the blame on our elected officials who failed us and yes, they did fail us in dramatic and deadly ways. I blame us. This is our country and we have allowed fringe players with conspiracy theories to join in our national conversations, we have chosen popularity over passion, power over prudence, and our own beliefs over the beliefs of others.

We supported banks making money off college loans and dragging down our brilliant students into a service economy geared for corporate profit. Binding them like serfs to an unfair, monetary system that rewards the top one percent at the expense of the 99 percent is a disgraceful act. So the banks and quasi govt. Lending organizations can make a little side money as well on interest and penalties.

I blame us for giving selfish and greedy false prophets the power over us, to lie to us, to encourage our baser instincts, and to divide and conquer our shared American experience.

Problems require solutions from level headed people. We don't need to fly flags on our trucks as if we are the American Isis or to wear our prejudices on our sleeves as if that gives them a value they do not deserve and will never be worthy of.

We have a constitution that protects our Right to bear arms so why do we argue on known facts? We also know that mentally ill people shouldn't be able to purchase automatic rifles. Front line workers in health care need PPE and our support and there is no legitimate reason we cannot support that request. There are solutions to these types of problems.

There needs to be a new area of health care where professionals and patients have a third choice, not just Doctor office or the emergency room. In one newspaper article after another we read of an elderly couple who waited too long to get treatment because one did not want to leave the other behind. They both get too sick and die within minutes of each other and we think how romantic that they had one last kiss. I'm betting they would have wanted more than that if they had a choice, if our nationwide healthcare system had a treatment regimen for them. They get the kiss of death from a broken system, designed to work in sunny weather and to the benefit of the insurance adjustors who want everything just perfect for their bottom line.

It's woeful and it forces older couples to stay home together for fear of leaving the other partner home alone with Covid19. It's not sweet, it's cold, heartless, and terribly inhuman and cruel and we must demand that a third tier of treatment be established and bring permanent change to this wholly inadequate pandemic threatened health care system.

Richard Fisher. COVID PATIENT , ICU , EMMC, BANGOR, ME

The Amazing Adventures of Nikolast the Cat - Chapter 2

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Wed, 16 Dec 2020 11:16:00 -0500

The Amazing Adventures of Nikolast the Cat - Chapter 2 - The Ladybug Compact

By Richard Dean Fisher

The dying embers of the fire cracked and crackled as Nikolast slept. The air cooled and a cold draft blew from under the Thomas Cottage front door. Nikolast woke up, stood on all fours and shook and ruffled his short fur. A ladybug who had been sleeping on his tail catapulted into the air and only due to a furious beating of her wings did she avoid the hot fireplace. The Ladybug landed on the tip of Nikolast's ear. He took a white paw swipe at her and missed as she floated above him, then landed again in a tuft of fur just inside Niko's ear.

"Hello?" said a very tiny voice. Nikolast froze. "Hello, can you hear me?" said the very tiny voice in Niko's ear. Niko nodded.

"Who are you?" the minuscule voice asked.

"I'm Nikolast or Niko. Who are you? I can't see you. I can barely hear you." Niko replied as he slowly turned his head to look around the room.

Ladybug giggled and tickled Niko's ear. "I'm in here. Miss Tennelope Ladybug at your service and pleased to meet you. Nikolast walked over rubbed along side the couch, making certain to turn his head to try to stop that tiny itch in his ear. Tennelope flew out of his ear and landed on his nose. "Can you see me now, Nikolast? You haven't answered my question who are you?" Tennelope Ladybug shouted as loud as she could, "I wasn't asking your name, I was asking WHO are you that crows would place you under their protection? They only do that by prophecy."

Nikolast tilted his head slightly. "First, Miss Ladybug, I don't know anything about a crow prophecy or that I am under their protection. I spoke with a crow today and we became friends." Niko shook his head but the ladybug was faster and floated above and then gently landed on top of Niko's head. She landed so lightly Niko didn't even know she landed at all!

" That is a problem for you indoor animals. You spend all your time with humans inside their homes and get no outside education at all. I will let the crows explain their customs to you but I am going to be tagging along. You probably don't know this but ladybugs are good luck and it is very bad luck to kill a ladybug. Once the crows placed you under their protection, the ladybug nation, in accordance with the agreement forged at the Great Circle join in the protection. We provide a good luck shield for you. And so I am here." She busily fussed with her dotted wings. "I just don't understand how an indoor cat can be this important,."

Nikolast shook his head several times to ride himself of this insulting little bug, but every time she was faster and landed on him again. "Are you going you be in my fur the entire time? He was exasperated.

"Not all the time, I have ladybug business to attend to. I will tell you when I am leaving and when I will return." shouted the tiny voice from on top of Niko's head.

Niko shrugged, " Miss Tennelope I am not certain how this is necessary or how one ladybug will protect a cat 50,000 times her size, but you are welcome to 'tag along'."

"Nikolast, I am not the only ladybug here." As she spoke thousands of ladybugs emerged from every crack and corner in the walls, flying up to cover the entire ceiling of the room. Miss Tennelope Ladybug then flew three circles above Niko's head and just as quickly as they had arrived, they disappeared back into their hiding places. Then she landed on Niko's nose and smiled at him.

Nikolast was impressed but also curious, "Miss Ladybug, that was something to see. But how will that protect me?"

Ladybug smiled. "We can create a screen that repels bat radar and blocks the keenest of night vision, say from owls or nighthawks. There are other uses too, but those are highly secret. It is not a good day for you should we have to use our advanced skills to protect you."

" I don't know why I would need protection," Nikolast replied, frustrated with all this nonsense, he jumped up onto the sofa and curled up on top of a decorative pillow of hand-stitched daisies and ladybugs.

Outside the window, the Watcher's Net had expanded one hundred miles to the North, into The County, as it is referred to by humans, and the great last wilderness in the Eastern United States. Red Winged blackbirds had now joined in to cover the farmland areas, to avoid confrontations with humans who love red-winged blackbirds but would shoot Crows sitting on cornstalks without hesitation.

Soon reports were carried back through the net to Johnny Crow. Hawks in the North had begun flying in crossing patterns above the net, canvassing the land from above. Johnny Crow, King of the Eastern Sunrise Nation, was stunned, This was told and retold for generations that a great war of the wild animals would arrive soon after the birth of a kitten named Niko, last of its litter. Johnny Crow sent a message back through the net- send in the sparrows to disrupt the hawks and chase them off.

~end Chapter 2

The Amazing Adventures of Nikolast the Cat - Chapter 1 - An Introduction to Friendship

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Sun, 13 Dec 2020 21:47:00 -0500

Chapter 1 - An Introduction to Friendship

By Richard Dean Fisher

Nikolast is a cat. He started out in life (like all cats do) as a kitten. And he wasn't an extraordinary kitten either.. He was the runt of the litter, a calico kitten with flecks of tabby orange around his face and a thin, black stripe on each ear, from base to tip, right up the center. He looked like a baby bobcat. Basically, Nikolast was very much a normal kitten with a few unusual markings. I forgot to mention his paws. One was completely white. The other three were black as a crow's feather.

Johnny is a crow. Big and black, with a black beak, and marble-black eyes, and dark gray claws. He enjoys talking to humans and following them around with his cousins, brothers and sisters. 'Hey Jim, you're 5 minutes late for work." "Hey Jeanie, did you forget your phone again?" "Travis, Travis, you better hurry and get out of there, you'll be late to your wedding." "Kevin, drop the french fries, you know you can't eat them all. Hurry before those pesky sparrows show up."

Johnny Crow and Nikolast had never met before Sunday, March 7th in the 1300th year of the crow revival or the Year of the Cat, No. 2225. Yet they had something in common that is rare in the animal world. They both had deciphered the verbal English language. No, they weren't bit by a radioactive spider. This isn't a super hero story.

It was a foggy March morning in Fortune Oaks, Maine. Nikolast was outside Thomas family cottage, laying low, silently watching blue-jays at the feeder. He was 12 weeks old and had learned to walk between Bert Basset's paws to get through the doggy- door, although the rubber door smacked him back several times before he found his balance and timing. To Niko's benefit, Bert Basset is an old hound dog, with a slow gait and the door does stay open a long time. Sill, Nikolast was proud of his accomplishment, now for a nice plump blue-jay.

Johnny landed on a thick pine branch near the feeder, behind the cottage. The taunting was about to begin.

"Hey big blue, how many of those seeds you need to eat to fill that big blue belly?" Hey, big blue, the sky called. He wants his color back. Hey, how come ya'll have the same last name? That's all kind of seedy. "

Johnny flew down to the wooden lighthouse feeder and landed on top. The Blue Jays scattered. Nearby the cawing of several crows could be heard as the flock of blue jays flew through the neighborhood. Then he flew down to the ground, looking for a french fry or piece of cheese.

Nikolast pounced and it was a good pounce, but perhaps a tad too high and maybe a second too fast, which he realized as he flew over the back of the black-feathered bird and tumbled across the lawn. Johnny Crow noticed the breeze as Nikolast flew past.

"Do you want to try that again? It was an elegant attempt. I feel bad you missed. Of course, grabbing you in my talons and dropping you thirty feet will not result in an elegant landing at all."

Nikolast, looking suddenly disinterested, sat and groomed his paws before replying,

"I wasn't trying to catch YOU for dinner, I was after a big, plump blue-jay. YOU are all skin and bones," said Nikolast in a dismissive tone. Besides, I'm too heavy for a bird to carry."

Johnny found a piece of old bread and poked at it with his beak, while keeping one eye on Nikolast.

"You're a cute kitten, ya look like a baby bobcat, and I could fly with my talons dug into your soft, furry back. I might just do that too and drop you off outside a Chinese restaurant, then dumpster dive tomorrow for kitty-cat lo-mein. Yum. I'm getting hungry thinking of it."

Nikolast laid down facing Johnny Crow. A lady bug landed on his ear.

"My name is Nikolast Octavio Leggier, 8th of my litter, born on the first moon of the Year of the Cat, No. 2225. I am owned and cared for by humans named Thomas. They kept me because I was the runt of the litter, I have very few friends. Would you like to be my friend?"

The words burst out of Niko's mouth in a series of tiny meows. Johnny tilted his head and observed Nikolast very carefully.

"You talk more than I do and that is saying a lot," said the young crow, "How do you know the name of your owners? Is this a trick? Do not pounce me again, you won't like the result. OK, we can be friends on one or more conditions. I do not accept fair weather friends, friends of convenience, or transactional friends. I am free, un-owned and living dangerously in the outside world." Johnny ruffled his feathers, stuck out his chest, and crowed or cawed but of crowing variety.

Nikolast replied with short laugh,

"Wow, you're kind of random, I don't know all those big words you spoke, we can just be friends. Oh, and I know their name because they speak it all the time. Nikolast stood up on his rear hind legs and bowed,

'Hello Mr. Thomas, dinner is almost ready. Has your day gone well?" Nikolast pecked the air imaginatively, "Mrs. Thomas you are so good to me. Leftovers are fine, now where's our son Maxwell hiding today? And where's that playful kitten Nikolast hiding?" Nikolast sat back down and smiled at Johnny Crow.

Johnny looked up into the trees. He heard a hawk screech high in the blue-jay colored sky.

"Buddy, there are only a few of us who can understand their words. That is a rare gift. Now did you hear that screech? A hawk is up in the sky circling. He sees lunch and that's you. He is twice my size and he doesn't like chit chat, just a dive bomb with talons first for his prey. Get inside right away. We'll talk again later." Johnny waved his wings as he spoke, shooing the kitten onto the back porch where an old basset hound was patiently waiting (sleeping) to help Nikolast get back inside the house.

Johnny flew up into the higher branches of the pine tree, one eye on the Thomas Cottage and one eye on the sky. Johnny thought ' I had better not be wrong but I think I need to establish a watch. Nikolast is completely unaware of the danger that is near this house. The hawk screeched again. Johnny began to call out to his cousins, sisters, and brothers.

"Set up a watcher's net, set up a watcher's net for a five long-flight radius, five long-flight radius," cried the crow over and over. Within minutes the call was repeated and within a few hours hundreds upon hundreds of crows took up positions in trees and rooftops, on poles and wires, extended for several miles. The crows repeatedly called out back and forth, standing as sentries into and throughout the day and long into nightfall.

Nikolast was curled up asleep by the fireplace, the red flames of the fire licking at the seasoned red oak wood. Outside the Thomas cottage, for the first time since year 698 in the crow calendar, a watcher's net was in full force, and growing wider by the hour.

End Chapter 1

New Song- Walk Along Your Jagged Line

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Sun, 13 Dec 2020 09:07:00 -0500

Diffle County Report - Jack Taylor and the Civil War Inheritance - Chapter 2

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Sat, 12 Dec 2020 09:48:00 -0500

Rabbit Run

When he turned twenty, Jack Taylor married his high school sweetheart Bonnie Weatenly and it wasn't very long before they had children, Brandon and Marigold. Jack built a modest 4-bedroom ranch house, dark green siding with white trim, with an attached two car garage, 200 feet back from Rabbit Mountain Road. He snuggled the house as close to the gentle stream called Rabbit Run as possible, He used a dirt road built by the previous owner as a driveway and that road follows Rabbit Run all the way to the bridge at the rear of the property where, according to local press, John Shenk of Shenk Auto died when he fell off the bridge while intoxicated and fracture his skull on a rock.

Of course John Shenk's family found empty beer cans that were pierced all over and his pistol had been fired, and a tuft of black bear fur was lodged between his teeth. Did he bite a black bear before he died? Why was the gun empty of bullets? Besides, John needed a case of beer to get drunk enough to fall off the bridge he built himself, his family concluded. Some questions never get answered.

Behind the house, Jack built a 4 bay garage with a loft- man cave perpendicular to the house- with identical siding and trim. He bought 4 ATV's, 4 Snowmobiles, several rifles and pistols. He built an inground swimming pool in the backyard of the house and built a small bathhouse in the corner of the detached garage with a doorway to the pool area. He added 6' high privacy fence between the house and the garage. Then he hired landscapers to to tie everything together with mulch, trees, rocks, and plants.

The Taylors were proud of their homestead and careful with their money. They decided that it was no one's business where the money came from. They made modest donations to their Church and their favorite charities, placed their children in public school, and Bonnie got her Bachelor's Degree in Art Design online while Jack opened a gun and tackle shop at the old Batchelor Market, a few hundred feet south on the State highway from the Grinold Township building.

Of course, people talk in small towns and Jack's sudden purchase of a large tract of land, a dilapidated Storefront property in the center of a rural township, a new house built to spec, several adult recreation toys, a new Ford F-350, a complete remodeling of the Batchelor building, an all new inventory of guns and fishing gear, jackets and ammunition, hats, boots and hunting knives, and a year later, the addition of an indoor gun range, as well as a diamond ring on Bonnie's finger the size of a Kansas cow, and a modest donation to the Diffle County Food Pantry of $75,000 so they could afford commercial refrigerators- well that raised a few eyebrows and soon enough the gossip train left the station.

Jack didn't build his empire overnight. Jack Taylor was 29 years old when stopped by the Township office to talk to Big Don about the State highway permit he needed for the shop that was painfully slow in arriving, holding up Jack's Grand Opening. It had been 11 years since he received his first inheritance check. Without fuel, even the gossip train slows back down over time. Jack Taylor didn't talk much and Bonnie was alrighty fine with that. Still, Big Don had to ask,

" Jack, I'll call the State and see what I can do, but they aren't a friendly bunch, Mind if I ask you a personal question?"

Jack smiled, "Sure, go ahead. I may not answer if its too personal."

Don smiled back, "Did you rob a bank? You may be the wealthiest young man in Diffle County! I saw your dad last night at the Willow Inn, he was his usual self, a bit tired and muttering about a stolen inheritance. I'm told he's been drowning himself nightly in beer and whiskey, always talking to himself and others. I know that can be hard on family. If there is anything you need..." Jack interrupted him.

"Don, I never stole a penny in my life. My dad needs help but until he admits he needs it, there isn't much I can do for him. Yeah it's sad and at times I get angry but mostly I miss the dad I remember. That isn't the guy drinking himself to death at the bar. I don't know that man. " Jack paused for a moment before speaking in a quieter tone,

"As for the money, and I tell you this confidentially, I was blessed with an ancestor from long ago who chose me without knowing who I am, on the chance that the alcoholism in his family wouldn't carry through more than three generations. He held his fortune from civil war in trust on a prayer that one day our family would have an heir worthy of his fortunes. Don, I don't drink or smoke, I don't do drugs. I never will and we will do great things with the money."

For moment Big Don was speechless. He nodded his head as Jack's words sunk in. "Jack, that sounds like a lot of money."

Jack picked up his coffee and sipped after blowing on it to cool it down. He stood up and smiled at Don,

"The gesture is greater than the result. My responsibility is to make the result greater than the gesture. We are blessed for it." With that Jack readied himself to leave, but leaned in close to Big Don and whispered " Billions, not Millions" and then Jack Taylor looked at Big Don with concern,

"If this gets back to me I will know it was you. But if you can keep this to yourself, there's a chance that Grinold Township will receive a blessing as well." Jack winked at Big Don, who laughed, a merry smile on his face.

"Jack, I don't know how you do it." Big Don stood up and stretched and the two men nodded to each other. "See ya 'round Mr. Taylor."

"Don't forget my driveway permit, Don." Said Jack as he walked out the door,

A few months later Big Don was sitting , well.... where he pretty much sits every day, behind the big desk in the meeting room when town secretary Julie Winters walked in and handed him the mail. Big Don opened the mail, as he had done the past 15 years. Inside one envelope with no return address was a check from the Taylor Foundation and a deed to the old Hasker farm, directly behind the Township building.

Don stared at the check for several minutes then, chuckled softly to himself, saying to no one in particular, "I don't know how he does it." The check was made out to Grinold Township in the amount of $250,000. On the memo line there were instructions that read...

Build a park with a playground. -Jack and Bonnie

Next Week ---Chapter 3 - Good Neighbor, Bad Neighbor

Diffle County Report - The Current History of the John Shenk Property - Chapter 1

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Fri, 27 Nov 2020 08:55:00 -0500

Jack Taylor was the luckiest son of a gun in Diffle County. He grew up poor because his daddy was Billy Taylor. Billy drank from job to job and often when the rent was due, Billy wasn't ready to pay it. By the time Jack was fifteen, he, his mom and his sister had made several midnight moves to new rentals just ahead of the County Sheriff. They often kept their belongings in trash bags, piled in the closets at the ready for the next moving adventure. Folks around town would often remark that Jack will one day be drinking whiskey "from the same bar stool his father sits on". You know how that runs in the family.

If history was the only judge, those town gossips would be right. Johnathan "Jack" Taylor's grandfather Buck T. Taylor died in a freak accident when he drove while intoxicated into the town square and his head and heart were pierced by General Grant's sword. Buck's F-150 hit the statue base with such force, General Grant and his horse were both knocked backwards off the pedestal (which was concreted in just a week prior by Mallard Brothers Contracting "Why hire a quack when you can hire a Mallard"). Grant's sword once held high against the Southern advance penetrated the black truck's roof, then the sword roughly ran through Buck T. Taylor, and lodged into the seat underneath him. It took the fire company 4 hours to remove both sides of his body. The sword was replaced with a dull stainless blade with the words inscribed in fine print: Zero Tolerance.

Buck T. Taylor's death wasn't without irony. Buck's great grandfather William S. Taylor was a Captain in the 23rd Calvary and fought under Grant and even once drank the old General under the table. That was at The Grand Hotel Gettysburg where both were staying just before the big battle. Grant later became President. William S.Taylor died at Gettysburg on the first day of battle. That is how fate accomplishes its mission in our lives- some have cream with their coffee while others get creamed after their coffee.

Captain William S. Taylor had made a fortune before the war betting on tobacco futures. He and his wife, unable to bear children, created a trust for the money and that trust grew and grew. After he died his wife Anne opened a women's clothing shop on Main Street. Anne had strong religious beliefs and could not tolerate drunkenness and addictions of the flesh, and she knew her husband's brother would squander the family fortune on booze and women if the trust went to him. She revised the Trust to skip two generations of Taylors and if there were no Taylors left by then, the trust would be donated to the Methodist Church.

On his Eighteenth birthday, Jack Taylor received a letter from "The Estate of William S. and Anne R.Taylor" requesting he meet with Estate's Executor, Attorney Ralph Handover. He ignored it. A month later, the doorbell rang and twenty minutes later Jack Taylor signed the legal papers and was handed a very large check which represented 5 percent of his total fortune. He kept the remaining monies invested and hired Attorney Ralph Handover to manage the portfolio. He also stopped drinking. After his meeting with Attorney Handover Jack Taylor poured a case of beer down the toilet and never again touched another drop of alcoholic beverage.

One month later Jack moved his mother and sister into a home he bought for them. The house was fully furnished. Each bedroom had its own walk-in closet, private bathroom, and a dresser, of course.

"No more plastic bags." Jack said to his mother.

He also paid the rent for one year for his father. That was the last time he helped his dad.

For himself? Jack Taylor bought two hundred and fifty four acres of mostly prime wooded upland in Grinold Township, Diffle County, PA. from Johnathan Shenk Et. Al. The land was bordered by Rabbit Mountain Road to the North, Diffle County Parkland to the South, Lester and Kathy Holmes to the West, and the Red Rodeo Subdivision to the East. A small stream, Rabbit Run, follows the Red Rodeo Subdivision running North to South. Here is a basic map:

John Shenk owned a car dealership in Nutter County. It was a dumpy looking dealership. John Shenk didn't care. He loved his cars, his beer, and his loyal customers. If your kid needed a dependable car to get through college and you asked John Shenk and he would go to the next auction, find a cheap, dependable car and then sell it to you at cost. 300 bucks, 400 bucks and your kid had a car you could trust. So when it was time to buy a new car, you went to Shenks Auto and you paid more for your car. You didn't haggle, you didn't do comparison shopping. Shenk took care of you so when it was time, you took care of John Shenk.

John owned a large property on Rabbit Mountain Road. It was where he went to hunt, to drink, to hide, to cry, to laugh, to escape the garage, the sales, and his sister Betty who co-owned the dealership. He loved the woods, the stream, and he built dirt roads along the entire boundary so he could drive all the way around. it's easy to get lost on two hundred and fifty four acres. John Shenk got more lost every day. One day, John, a short, stocky man with a broad nose and a kind smile, drove into the woods with a six pack of Reading Premium and a 22 caliber snake pistol. He parked near the Southern boundary at a wooden bridge crossing over Rabbit Run. He walked onto the bridge which was nothing more than 4 telephone poles from bank to bank with 2' x 12' planks nailed on top.

John Shenk sat with his six-pack and hung his feet over the side and just relaxed. He didn't notice Momma black bear with her cubs walking to the bridge. He downed his last beer. He didn't notice the cubs until they walked up and sniffed and batted his empty beer cans off the bridge. Then he jumped up quick with alarm, and being beer balance-challenged, he fell forward on top of one of the cubs. The screaming cub ran back to his Momma who stood up and roared with rage.

John Shenk pulled his snake pistol and shot Momma with every bullet in the gun as she charged him. He backed up to the edge of the bridge as he fired his tiny gun , then he tripped, falling backwards into the stream where the back of his head hit a large rock. John laid there, not moving. Momma bear leaped off the bridge and landed on top of him. She pressed her nose into his face, teeth bared, and then she paused. She sniffed. She nudged. Then she walked away. John Shenk averted a bear attack. He played dead. and he did it better than most because he was already dead when Momma bear landed on him.

The very last time John Shenk saw the world, he witnessed this: Tree branches reaching right up to bright blue, white puffy-clouded sky and in the foreground: a giant black bear, completely airborne, her arms and legs spread wide with her claws extended and her teeth bared, no more than five feet directly above him. John Shenk's last thought? I wish I had a camera. No one will ever believe this. He smiled and drew in his last sweet breath on Earth.

Two months after his death, John's sister sold half the property to Red Rodeo Land Consulting. The other half she kept for another ten years until Jack Taylor made her an offer she couldn't refuse.

Diffle County is fiction as are all its characters- they are fiction. Any resemblance to real folk is certainly not intended and purely coincidental.

What Country Did They Fight and Die For?

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Thu, 12 Nov 2020 00:13:00 -0500

I was watching the movie 12th Man, a Norwegian film about a saboteur, the only one of twelve to escape the Germans alive. The story is as much about the citizens who shepherd him to the Swedish border as it is about his will to survive under the most extreme conditions. After 59 days and constant pursuit by the Gestapo, he makes it back to freedom. It is a true story and it was a reminder for me that sacrifice for country is not an American ideal. We don't own it. Our elite universities don't own it and our flag-waving, rifle-backed militias don't own it. That sacrifice comes from our soldiers, their families, and through our support for them. It comes from common people who fight for our freedom.

I did not serve our country. I grew up in the final years of Vietnam and the national embarrassment that followed. We lost our first war in Vietnam and our soldiers returned home not as heroes, but as something else that stained us as a nation. It took a long time and the reality of what we lost, of who we lost when the names of every soldier killed in Vietnam was chiseled into the dark granite wall at their memorial in Washington DC. We watched as brothers in war, families, friends, loved ones came to the wall, to remember who they lost- to honor their fallen. Our Nation finally rose from the fog of war, from the dark politics of our leaders, and we mourned, and we finally honored those who served. Their sacrifice, those injured and those killed, will never be forgotten by their Countrymen.

What Country did they fight for?

There are rows upon rows of white crosses at Arlington National Cemetery. Have you ever been there? Do you know someone interred there? These brave souls, rows upon rows, thousands upon thousands, gave their lives for a cause- liberty as written as a promise in the documents of our founders- the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States that as long as we sacrificed for our cause, as long as we defended our liberty with our lives if necessary- the promise of freedom, the promise of liberty, the promise of the power that is vested in the people would never die.

What Country do those crosses represent?

This isn't a game. We have elections and we choose our leaders. Some rise to the occasion and become great leaders and others do not. But all of them, the best and the worst of them concede and allow the transfer of power when the election is lost. It is precisely because we have a responsibility to honor every white cross, every name chiseled into granite, every grave of every solider, whether entombed in a ship at Pearl Harbor, or on Flanders fields- we the people and that means all of us, not red states or blue states, not right wing or left wing, not Christian or Muslim - ALL OF US AMERICANS have a responsibility to keep the promise to those who fought, those who fight, and those who have sacrificed for our Country.

No one is above our Constitution, above our Declaration, our Bill of Rights, above our promise to those who gave their lives for a freedom forged in the documents we hold dear. On this day, on this Veterans Day, our President must keep that promise and the party leaders who support his false narrative need to keep that promise. He must concede and allow for the peaceful transfer of power.

What Country keeps their promise to their soldiers that their sacrifice is not in vain?

The people have voted in a fair election in accordance with our laws. The orderly transfer of power is needed and necessary or all those lives, all those buried or lost or missing in action have died in vain for a cause that will soon end, a freedom that has no future, and the death of a great experiment where the people who were once invested in the power have instead chosen to be governed by a populist leader. The American flag has stars and stipes and no names. TRUMP is not a real flag and his Presidency, like all that have served before him must come to an end on January 20th. It's a honor to serve, not a right. His time now must draw to a close.

We made a promise and the eyes of the world are upon us. If we truly want to honor Veterans Day, then we should hold our leaders accountable to that promise and honor our soldiers not with wreaths but with their timely actions in support of our promise.

The orderly transfer of power peacefully from one administration to another keeps that promise alive and is the greatest honor we can bestow upon our Veterans- to defend the constitution as they do, with righteousness, with honor and respect for the words that are written and preserved for all time. We must treat that promise with the same resolve as our brave men and women of our military keep their promise to defend our country.

What country honors the peaceful transfer of power as resolutely as we honor our fallen, as we honor our promise to remain a free nation as our founders envisioned it, as our soldiers, God bless them all, fought and died to to keep that promise alive, to keep Democracy shining bright, to be a beacon for all?

What Country? The United States of America. God bless our leaders that they would choose to keep our promise and honor our Veterans by preserving liberty for all Americans. God give them the strength to be resolute, righteous, against all who would drive us to fascism for vanity's sake, who would destroy our institutions, threaten our rights, and undermine our freedoms and dishonor our soldiers, in order to retain a power that is no longer theirs to wield. The people have chosen.

God Bless our Veterans.

My Quiet Hours

fishfirewrite@gmail.com (Rick Fisher ) — Sun, 2 Aug 2020 21:20:00 -0400

My father passed away on July 30th. There are dates we all remember as a society- 911, D-Day, July 4, December 25th are examples of those kind of dates. Then there are the personal dates that stay with each of us, filling our hearts or burning our souls- the day we met, the day we were married, the day the divorce was final, the day our child was born, then our second child, the day I met Randi, the night we danced to Crash at a Dave Mathews Concert and fell in love, and the day my father died- July 30, 2020.

The internal change from this is staggering, from the sense of loss, to the terms of our life relationship and where it fell short, where I fell short of his expectations, and where he fell short of mine, and where he exceeded mine and I excelled beyond his best hopes for me.

We were estranged for a time when I was much younger or rather- I was estranged from him by my personal choice- I don't think he gave my silence a thought - they were just my quiet hours. He would wait them out for he knew I would be back, and hopefully more mature. That was not always the case. but I did come back and as time flew on I drew closer to him and came to understand the dynamics of our love.

He was the man who knew how to love without a giving a hug. He was a fierce defender of his wife- for as much as he loved his sons and their families he loved her a thousand times more. We love her too..but we understood and I think deep down we hoped we could live up to that standard in our own lives.

Life has become serious, the colors are darker, the depth of perception increased and I do not know for how long this new view will last, and in keeping with that mood I really do not care how long it lasts.

The tacky cliché response is that my father has died and now I have become a man. Or that my father's spirit is now within me or all around me. Are there levels of consciousness we cannot see but upon which our souls can travel? Is this just another stage of mourning?

My mother lost her husband of 68 years on July 30th. Three days later she is in the basement riding out a tornado warning without him. His office is down there, that place where he paid bills, added numbers on scrap paper or used a cheap calculator. I imagine his starter pistol is in one of the drawers and empty AVON figurines of zero financial value still sitting on his desk- like the blue jalopy. I would burst into tears if I had to look at his desk right now. My mother is braver than I.

When I was hired to be a township manager it was the culmination of 25 years of hard work in government. I didn't have the coveted college degree, the pedigree of the other candidates some who had advanced degrees. What I had to offer was what my mother and father taught me by their example, not just through their words:

1. Work harder than the next guy.

2. Practice what you preach.

2. Be fair to all and treat everyone equally. Be respectful.

3. Passion. Preparation. Practice. Patience. Perseverance, Pride.

4. Sir and Ma'am are required words in conversation.

5. Don't put on airs, don't act superior to others.

6. In competition, be honorable in your losses and humble in your victories.

7. There is no such thing as a fair fight in the street- end it fast, be decisive

8. Don't fight unless you are cornered.

9. If you throw mud, you will get mud on yourself too. Throw compliments.

10. You get more bees with honey.

11. Never lose your temper.

12. Learn from your mistakes or be doomed to repeat them

13. Take responsibility for your actions.

14. When an apology is required- you apologize.

15. Be on time. There is nothing more selfish or rude than to make people wait for you.

Then there are a few life lessons I learned from the love of my life, Randi Thompson Fisher:

16. It's none of your business what other people think of you.

17. Be genuine.

18. Love more than you are loved and you will be loved more than you love.

19. Rickilliums are actually lupine- you cant name it just because it's the first time you've seen it.

20. You can't record music while sleeping in your studio chair. Either wake up or go to bed.

I don't always succeed at these life goals, but not for a lack of trying.

I mostly stopped writing when I was hired as Township and now Town Manager. Your words can be used against you in a public forum. I don't need to lose a position I worked so hard to obtain because I flamed the Internet. I am employed to run the day to day operations of a local government and I take that responsibility very seriously. My opinions can speak through my characters, through my stories, and through my songwriting.

So Ive been in my quiet hours at Mutant Mouse Chronicles and the world has gotten darker and colder and our democracy is showing all its fragilities. However brave it may appear for me to blast out editorial content, there are very good writers at prestigious publications who are already doing that kind of heavy lifting. I can make my voice heard through other methods- short stories, poetry, and especially through my music.

One year ago, my father told me I was running out of time. He was speaking from experience. I get that now. It's time to lose weight. Its time to write the stories. It's time to love my family with a quiet intensity and fierce pride.

21. It's OK to cry over someone you love and dearly miss.

Rest in Peace Sir. You were a great man and you made this world a better place. Shalom.